


Dead Men Walking

by ShaeraHaek



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Fluff is important, Gen, I dont know what to tag, I had to get the idea off my mind, I wanna say it's not too horrible but you be the judge of that, Implied Relationships, Internal Conflict, M/M, Nobody really dies tho, Possibly Slow Updates, bad future AU, cameos of other characters, domestic life, dystopia au, fighter!Daichi, trigger warning, very self indulgent, what else should i tag
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-04
Updated: 2017-04-15
Packaged: 2018-08-29 01:15:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8470078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShaeraHaek/pseuds/ShaeraHaek
Summary: "You were smoking again," a messy, ashen-haired head peeks out, and sleepy, brown eyes blink at him owlishly from over the edge of the covers. "Welcome home."Daichi hums, resting his head on the pillow when ease and guilt wash over him. He moves the covers to reveal the face that haunts his dreams."I killed a man today," Daichi says."I know."





	1. Prologue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello there! It's me again! With yet another fic because why not start a new one when I've 3 in progress. Well, ideas come and go and this one was just too good not to put down.  
> Very self indulgent. Read on your own risk _(:3」∠)_ 
> 
> ALSO! Special mention of Ryu and Rinny, who always support me!  
> And my lovely super-speedy betareader [social_monstrosity](https://archiveofourown.org/users/social_monstrosity) \- whatever would my impatient ass do without you! ><
> 
> I also have a some nice music to listen to - they might sound a little bleak, but they're pretty good. So, if you're in a melancholic mood, here you go.  
> //Listen to the Suga theme by the end ;)//
> 
>  
> 
> [This one is rather general](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c40z8utTMbE&index=4&list=LLSzjXRnlyPhJy9T2M2HxUuQ)  
> [This one too](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1I-wmixq4F4)  
> [Daichi's Theme ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vgYHIdI5wsQ&list=LLSzjXRnlyPhJy9T2M2HxUuQ&index=5)  
> [Suga's Theme](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vMq7FZuYUZE&index=1&list=LLSzjXRnlyPhJy9T2M2HxUuQ)

_I killed a man today._

He can't even feel his knuckles anymore. His ears hurt from so much screaming and encouraging he can barely concentrate, but giving up is not an option. He doesn't fight for himself. He ducks left and then down, and his arm shoots out on reflex, hitting the other man's throat spot on. He feels something wet on his face, and looks up - the spittle mixed with blood falls down on his face as the man chokes and gurgles, stumbling backwards.

Voices cheer, and fall silent. When the man falls to the ground with a dull thud and a strangled wheeze, and Daichi hesitantly straightens up, arms still up in defence, muscles trembling from too much exertion, he realizes: _it's finally over_.

_I killed a man today._

Everyone's screams and shouts are mixed together into a roar that makes his head clear up because he won. They force their arms through the gaps in the fence to slap his back, and mess up his sweat-slicked hair, offering a bottle of some strong, colourful liquor while the pit master checks on the other fighter. He stumbles towards them, downs with a grimace and a hasty heave. He manages to keep it down, though, and grinds his teeth when they laugh at him. Daichi rests his forehead against the cold intertwined wires, closes his eyes, and lets the rough hands roam over his skin. Unknown mouths praise him, cheer for him, and he accepts every crinkled bill that is shoved into his palms, or the rim of his pants - like a whore for a good show; but a good show it was. They called for death, and he delivered; he looks behind at the pit master who is putting a mirror to the dead man's mouth. It remains clear.

"Dead!" The old gray man rasps out, rousing another bout of cheers out of the already excited crowd. "Get him out of there." He waves his hand in front of his face to repel the flies that has gathered over the man's sweaty body. "You, boy, this is your win. This time." He adds more quietly, and takes the bet money out of his pocket, counting a half of that belongs to the winner. "Go rest, I want you here next week."

Daichi pockets it without checking and marches out of the pit, body numb. He can still feel the hands, but it has been too many times for him to cringe.

Just another night.  

He throws a shirt on - one that was so often covered in blood that the blotches can't be washed out anymore. Someone offers him a box of cigarettes, and he grabs the whole packet without hesitation, putting one cigarette in his mouth right away. There's a lighter in there too - old, almost empty, but still working. He fingers it impatiently, but waits until he's out of the room before lighting his cigarette up. He stumbles, exhausted and hurting, and leans against the wall to catch his breath. He takes a drag, long and deep, one that makes his head spin, and waits to feel the tips of his fingers tingle with nicotine. One down, two to go. He lights up the second one, too, but takes his time with it.  

He opens his eyes to stare at the metallic stairs that lead up and out of the underground - it's going to be a long climb.

 Halfway up, he realizes the small bills still hang from the edge of his pants. He straightens them up, and puts them to the already thick stack in his pocket before he reaches the top door that leads outside. Nobody needs to see him like that; there are still people who think he is a decent, hard-working man, and he wants to keep that image as long as possible.

When he opens the door, he finds out it's shortly after midday the hard way. He rears back into the shadows of the warehouse, hissing when the sharp daylight hits his eyes. It takes a while to get used to the bright light, leaning against the warmed up metallic roof panels that are crudely put together as a substitute for walls. He absentmindedly draws circles into the red sand and dust that covers the ground, until he's rudely interrupted. 

"Your defence is full of holes," a cocky voice speaks out, and Daichi whips his head up to see a man walking towards him from the other end of the warehouse. Daichi pushes himself off the wall, standing firmly on the ground, hands out of his pockets. Where did he come from? How did he get there - the only exit is right next to him. Is there more than just him?

The money lies heavy in his pocket.

 "Hello there!" The man greets with a faked pleasant smile and a small wave. Daichi clenches his jaw, remaining stubbornly silent - he doesn't like those sharp eyes.

"Kuroo, nice to meet you! Big fan, by the way!" The man introduces himself with a small mock bow.

Daichi swallows, "Great, I don't give out signatures, though." He grumbles, rubbing his thumb and forefinger together. The situation doesn't sit well with him. The man starts yapping about the flaws of his fighting, but Daichi is all one ear in, the other out; he wants to leave - the sooner the better.

He is about to step towards the exit, but the man takes a swing at him - quick, aimed at the side of his head to force him to step away from his only way out. Daichi deflects, forced away from the door, fists raised, ready for the next attack, but the man - Kuroo - is not moving. He stands frozen on the spot, his face  a perfect image of confusion.

"Oh? This was... not how you fought down there?" He ends it in a question, and the confusion mixes with a little bit of anger.

Daichi lowers his arms, stepping around him. _You got that just from one hit? -_ He wants to snap back but he knows better than to rile people up out of the pit.

"It's staged!" Kuroo says, voice raising. "Why?"

"Goodbye." Daichi murmurs, eyes set forward as he's shoving his hands back in his pockets, gripping the money tight. He can't resist a short glance around the place - nobody else is there - but doesn't stop to answer. He doesn't have to justify himself. He keeps heading towards the exit, back tense with paranoia - Will he take another swing? He doesn't turn around to look , though.

"You take punishment on purpose! Why!" More anger. Daichi is already one leg out of there when the man speaks again, and the abrupt change of his tone makes him look back.

"Don't stay out too long - a storm's about to hit."

Daichi looks to the horizon, eyes hurting from the sharp sunlight. _A storm,_ he scoffs to himself. There's no storm coming - the skies are clear. He quickens his pace towards the overfilled parking lot that belongs to The Den, and nods at the gate keeper who lets him in with a small nod back. He makes a bee line to the back row to retrieve his old motorbike.  

"Good fight!" The man rasps, jabbing a finger at the slim screen on his table. He swings his greying bangs to the side when Daichi stops by to pay the toll, and pushes his hand away. "This one's for free. You took quite a beating tonight." 

Daichi thanks him, pocketing the money without a protest. He bows his head, ties a cloth around his mouth and climbs on, speeding into the streets - his first destination is not too far away, though.

Not fifteen minutes later, he's entering a small building in the darkest, most secluded part of the market. The bell softly chimes when he enters the dark, cozy, room with high, overfilled shelves and an odour that would burn the nasal cavities of everyone who spends more than an hour there.

"All at once, why don't you? Did you two make a deal or something?" A very familiar, otherwise melodic, but at the moment very exasperated voice laments the moment the door closes.

Daichi sighs, smile tugging at his bruised mouth. He decides to ignore the moaning man who owns the shop in order to greet another familiar face, who currently suffers at the said man's hands.

 "Hello Aone," Daichi waves, catching the one, healthy eye of the burly man who is having his nose sewed and wounds cleaned. Aone makes an indistinguishable greeting noise in the back of his throat that gains on pitch when the physician pushes a needle through his skin.

"Typical - just ignore me! Why not! It's not like I suffer you oafs at my fragile shop every weekend! So disrespectful."

"Hello to you, too, Oikawa." Daichi gives in, stepping closer to look at the surgery. "Tough night?"

"Yeah," Aone rumbles, trying to nod his head, and thus getting an immediate verbal lashing from Oikawa. "Rough morning?" He asks over Oikawa's scolding. Daichi nods.

"Step away, don't talk to him!" Oikawa shoos Daichi away, slapping his shoulder. "Iwa will serve you! Go, leave!"

"Fine, fine, calm down. I'm going." Daichi laughs, tempted to jab at Oikawa's ribs, because he knows it makes him yelp, but he takes into consideration the needle he's holding and the close proximity of that needle to Aone's face. Poor man doesn't need more scars.

"You look horrible, by the way!" Oikawa sing-songs, "You should take care of your face."

"Hello, Iwa?"

"Do not ignore me! So rude!" Oikawa keeps murmuring under his breath, while Aone gently pats his side to commiserate with him.

"Hey!" a man greets him, emerging from the back room that's separated from the actual shop slash emergency room by a curtain made of strings of colourful glass beads. Daichi stares for a second, and then composes himself.

"Here for the usual, but a cure this time, please." He says, cringing at his own lame attempt of a joke.

There is a pause, during which Daichi notices a distinct lack of reaction from the man, and then Oikawa speaks from the right, his voice his usual light and twittery self. "You've come to the right place then!"

"I'd soon give you Unicorn's dust than that." Iwaizumi speaks, voice even, but somehow unsettling. Oikawa actually looks away from his work.

There is a beat of silence, and then a tired "Sorry."

"Iwa is rude today, too!" Oikawa moans, already back at sewing.

Daichi swallows hard, clenching his fist and looking down at the discoloured counter. "It's... okay."

"No, I'm--" Iwaizumi pauses, sighs and rubs his eyes. "Tired. I apologize. It was out of line. The usual then, one sec."

Daichi feels a slight shift in the air, and looks to the side, and stares at Oikawa's back.

"Here it is." Iwaizumi puts a bag of poultices, amber ampoules and three glass bottles filled with brightly coloured potions. His hand lingers on the bag. "Good luck."

Daichi takes out the stack of money from his pocket, and takes two thirds of it, putting it on the counter. "Thank you."

"We value the feedback of our customers!" Oikawa calls merrily, not looking away from Aone's face as he turns it from side to side with the tips of his long fingers.

"I know, I know. I'll let you know!" Daichi says, "Good bye!"

Only one voice sees him out of the shop and it's neither Oikawa's, nor Iwaizumi's.

When he's climbing back on his bike, he catches Aone's eye through the small window. The man shakes his head at him, looks towards the beaded curtain, and then looks back again. Daichi catches a glimpse of the tail of Oikawa's white coat disappearing behind it.

He starts the bike, and drives off, the bag heavy against his side.

He thinks about Iwaizumi, and Aone's match, and then gets lost in his thoughts completely. The Kuroo guy keeps popping into his mind, and he can't keep the thoughts of him shoved back.

 _Staged -_ the word echoes, stirring a spike of annoyance. _Of course_ the fights are staged, Daichi thinks, gripping the handles of the bike in aggravation. Or as staged as they can get.

The pit master picks the matches, and tells every man before the beginning whether he wants him to win or lose.

Obey the pit master's decision, and you'll get your share, and keep your life. Please the audience, and you'll get to keep the change they shove in your pants.

But that's all there is. Those are the rules. And in a place like that, rules are meant to be disobeyed.

No fighter is happy to hear the master's left handed decision. Some get over it, some don't. And those who don't, are out for blood, because the only way to win is to kill your opponent.

Today, Daichi's opponent was supposed to lose. He didn't want to, though.  

There is a thing the crowd likes better than a good show: blood and death. The reward for that is thousands of credits that lie in the pocket of the man that is left standing.

Kill or be killed. Daichi killed today. And the week before, and a month before that. There's always someone who isn't happy with the master's decision. Daichi remembers all their faces, their voices, their last breaths - sometimes he feels those, too, ghosting over the back of his neck when he stands in the pit, deafened by the excited shouts of the gathered onlookers and betters that shake the fence that stands between them.

He sees them from the corner of the eye, watching him from the audience whenever the man that's locked there in him decides he's not going to lose tonight.

He remember them all well, but there is one face he sees vividly in his mind all the time. One face he sees with crystal clarity. One that keeps haunting him in his dreams every night, whispering mockery in sweet words into his ear, always denying those three he yearns to hear ever since he entered The Den and met him.

The man that taught him how things go in there, how to fight, how to put on a show good enough to make the audience throw all their money at you. The first one who said to him: "I'm not going to lose tonight."

They were less than twenty back then. And Daichi was shorter than him. He stopped counting the years since then.

To this day, he hears the chants of the crowd, and feels the blood thirst - perverse and twisted, calling them to the fence so the hands can reach out and touch.

He was their favourite.

Daichi sees the road, but he sees him as well. By every chain link fencing he passes, he sees an image of him leaning against it, and dark hands grasping at his skin, holding his arms and legs, calling for attention, but his round brown eyes never look away from him.

His blood pumps faster every time he remembers their fight.

Those rough, unknown hands winding around _his_ neck, fingers raking though _his_ short ashen hair, running down _his_ naked sides. The sound of inhuman shouts as the onlookers try to shove their hands through the fence to get _more, more, more of him._

 Then he slips from their grasp, and takes the first swing at Daichi. And one more, dancing around him as they cheer. He steps behind him while he's still disoriented, leans closer and whispers a needy _"Set me free!"_ into his ear. There is a rasp in his voice.

The next thing Daichi remembers is his bloody knuckles, and _his_ lithe but powerful body on the ground.

Daichi is the one stepping towards the fence, screwing his eyes shut as the hands shove bills into his waistband. They have a new champion now.

He blinks away the memory - he's at home. He leaves the bike in front of the door and locks it. The wind is picking up, and when he looks towards the horizon, he sees a red mist approaching.

That asshole was right - there _is_ a storm coming.

"Better cover up that bike, son." His neighbour calls, shielding his eyes as he looks west. He spits on the ground and waves at him, running inside his own house as fast as his old bones let him.

Daichi quickly retrieves the thick, old blanket from his tiny, closed front porch and throws it over his bike, tying the straps between the wheels. The next gust of wind brinks the first wave of red sand, and forces him to quickly hide in the tiny house hewn into the bottom of the mountain cliff. He shuts the door with his foot, pulls the cloth off his face, throwing it carelessly in the general direction of the kitchen table, and carefully lies the bag by his bed.

It's dark in there, but it's a cozy kind of darkness. And it smells of freshly baked garlic bread.

He pulls his shirt of, toes off his shoes, steps out of his pants - it's all dusty. He leaves everything in a pile on the floor and eyes the bulky lump on his bed, messing up his hair to get the sand out of it. He creeps closer, and falls down on the top of the blanket-covered lump, catching himself on his arms to keep his body from squishing what's underneath him.

He buries his head into the soft covers with a content huff. A grumble comes from the lump -  that's what he was waiting for. Daichi climbs over it to lie down on the other half of the bed, throws one arm and leg over the lump, and burrows his other one under it, hugging it close.

"You were smoking again," the lump speaks and moves as Daichi cuddles closer. A messy, ashen-haired head peeks out, and sleepy, brown eyes blink at him owlishly from over the edge of the covers. "Welcome home." There is a rasp in his voice.

Daichi hums, resting his head on the pillow when ease and guilt wash over him. He moves the covers to reveal the face that haunts his dreams.

"I killed a man today," Daichi says.

"I know."

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So.... Comments? Did you like? What do you feel? Tell me everything!!! I love off comments!! PLEASE! 
> 
> Kudos also appreciated *puppy eyes*


	2. Letters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I´m digging my way out of grave. Here, suffer....<3
> 
> Huge thanks for betareading to this God of Speed [social_monstrosity](https://archiveofourown.org/users/social_monstrosity) Whatever would I do without you!

Daichi calmly waits for Suga to properly wake up, gently nudging the beauty mark under his left eye. Suga scrunches his nose and screws his eyes shut, rubbing his cheek against the pillow in protest but ultimately gives up on the idea of sleep, as Daichi keeps messing with him. 

"Go wash yourself. You reek of fight." Suga rasps. Daichi turns his head to the side and presses his nose against his shoulder, breathing in. He doesn't think he smells any different - well besides all that fresh sweat and grime but that's something both of them are far too used to. He wonders if it's really the fight Suga smells. Maybe it's a retirement thing. Maybe Daichi is going to smell it too when he's old and retired. _If_ he gets to be old or retired, anyway.   

"Sorry." Daichi says but makes no move to leave. Suga stretches with a keening sound accompanied by a few cracks of his joints, and Daichi uses the moment to burry himself into the warmth of the covers, wrap his arms around Suga's frame and press his face against his chest. It would have painted a completely different picture if Suga were a woman with soft, plump breasts. He wonders what that would feel like.

"You always do this," Suga muses softly, "I wonder - do you expect to find there something?"

Daichi grins to himself and nuzzles his cold nose against the hard, flat chest, leaning his forehead against the pair of sharp collarbones. All he expects to find there is warmth and a beating heart, but the grim wish doesn't make him forgo the teasing, though.

"Mmm, maybe?" He flattens his palm against Suga's left breast, feeling around, pretending to look for that something. "I'm always left disappointed." He says in a flippant voice, but when he turns his head to press his ear flat against his flesh, he hears the snake coiled around his lungs, silently sounding the deathly rattle.

Suga slaps the hand away in mock offence and tries to push Daichi off, which only makes him tighten his hold with a shameless laughter.

"Unhand me you brute. It's enough that our neighbour thinks I'm a woman."

"Isn't that the point? That's why you let your hair grow."

 Suga gives up on the struggling, leaning back on his elbows. Daichi rolls his head to the side and closes his eyes. "He brought some bread today." Suga informs him casually, picking dirt off his messy hair. "He stammered when he saw me and called me a _missy._ "

Daichi makes an acknowledging sound in the back of his throat but nothing else. Suga puffs his cheeks and rolls his eyes. He pokes the bruise in the corner of Daichi's mouth, making him jerk his head away as if he just struck him. 

"I'm a good head and a half taller than he is." Suga says, tracing gentle circles around the wound in a mute apology.

"And delicate as a snow flower." Daichi mumbles, catching Suga's hand and pressing it against his cheek. It's a horrible lie.

"You're asking for a punch in the teeth. Have you not had enough today?"

The wind howls outside and the chimes hanging from their ceiling sing with it. Suga pinches Daichi's cheek when he's quiet for too long and shoos him off the bed to take a shower. Daichi obeys with a heavy sigh, digging for clean clothes and a towel in the drawer of their shared wardrobe. He sees Suga stretching his arm for the vials he left on the table, trying to grab it without getting out of bed. When he finally reaches it and pulls it off the table, the weight of the thing seems to surprise him, almost tipping him off the bed, but he manages to steady himself before he - or the bag - touches the ground. When he pulls out a thick envelope, Daichi finally leaves the room.

It's a note from Oikawa - or at least, it was a single short note at first that grew into this thick stack of papers they're sending each other now. Daichi never dares to read them. He asked about them once, when he first went to pick up the medicine. _'Survival notes'_ Suga said, and maybe they were just that at the time, but their nature is definitely different now - like a diary perhaps. Daichi wonders why they won't just text each other, but then Oikawa is the poetic and sentimental type, and Suga loves burning paper - something they don't see much these days with all the technology around.

When he comes out of the shower, clean and dulled by the hot water, Daichi finds Suga hunched over the papers, lips pressed into a thin line.

"Everything alright?" He asks, unsure whether he should approach him or not.

Suga blinks and folds the papers, face twisting into a saddened smile. "Yes." He says, finally turning to look at him. His mouth does a little tremble, as if he wants to say something but decides against it in the last moment. Daichi walks over, deciding to sit on the chair at the table, rather than to join him on the bed.

"Iwaizumi looked tired today." Daichi says, hoping it would spur Suga to comment.

"Yeah," is all Suga says, his eyes unfocussed, and mind miles away.

When it's clear he won't elaborate, Daichi turns on the chair and starts stuffing his mouth with the delicious, fresh-baked bread, trying to banish the image of a tired Iwaizumi out of his head.

Seems like another one joined the walk with death. He takes a peek at Suga, and suddenly, the bread leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.

"I managed to pull apart the android you brought the other day." Suga says, voice light as breeze. Daichi glances over his shoulder at their tinkering corner. There's a box full of parts, cables and batteries next to a pile of the humanoid husk to which the parts belonged.

"I'll see what I can sell."

"Make sure you sell at least something or we'll be eating circuits for dinner."

"Why, haven't you played with the rifles I stole? How about a bullet soup." Daichi jokes with his mouth full, making Suga snigger on the bed.

"I keep the rifles loaded for when we'll decide to blow our brains out."

Daichi looks up from the bread, pausing. "I'd rather blow something else." He says and feels the blood rush to his face. Suga gives him a sly look.

"I can't believe I said that."

"I can't believe you said that, either. Don't talk with your mouth full." Suga admonishes, his mouth constantly quirking upwards.

Daichi mumbles a tiny sorry and goes back to his food glad that the mood was somewhat lifted.  He keeps taking peeks at Suga, caching him folding Oikawa's letters with a smile on his face. When he picks up one of the amber ampoules, unscrews the dropper and sticks it into his nose, he looks away just before Suga harshly inhales. He breaks into a coughing fit, swearing between each bout that gradually gains the edge of dry heaving. 

"This is worse than snuffing razors." Daichi hears him mumble, and pretends not to see him wiping his tears just before throwing his head back and abusing his other nostril.   

* * *

Selling the salvaged android parts is not difficult but not easy either, but the bulk of his muscles and the beaten face help to keep the potential thieves and swindlers away. Daichi even manages to sell the batteries for a much higher price than he initially intended. The traders even topped the deals with a bunch of shots after they'd been struck. A lot of shots that tasted like petrol mixed with chilli. Thankfully Daichi remembered to trade in virtual credits and the transaction chip rests snugly on the inside of his left wrist so he's not really worried about anyone getting up the kicks to jump him and cut the thing out. They can always try, and honestly, after those shots he's had, Daichi would love to see someone have a go, but he's pretty sure scoundrels have better things to do than to gang up on somebody like him. Plus, anybody who would potentially do that moves around the pits, and he's not exactly a new face there.

That is one worry to cross out. The second is to get successfully home. He got to the markets on his bike, dragging the box of parts behind, but he knows better than to drive drunk, even if it's on a wasteland like this. Daichi stumbles out of the market and trips over his own wobbly legs, almost eating the shit on the pavement if he wouldn't have caught himself on the pole of the yellowy, flickering street light. His head spins when he glances up, and it's not just because he's been drinking. The sky is black and moon pretty high up - he wasted the entire day bartering leaving Suga alone. He really should cut the drinking part. It does him no good. Suga always warns him about it. Every time he comes home drunk.

His pale face swims in front of his eyes, head slowly shaking as he berates him for getting wasted again. He sits cross-legged on the bed, thighs bare - Daichi can almost feel the flesh on his fingertips. Oops, too far gone. Too many details. He blinks the image away and moves forward, pushing himself off wall of the nearest abode to steady himself, making a group of men on the other site of the street cheer at him in a chorus of alcohol induced cacophony. 

He keeps moving down the street, counting the meals they can afford on his fingers, bumping into a man hunched by the wall. Daichi bounces off the wall behind with a surprised mumble of a curse, but keeps shambling down his path, not paying attention to the man until he feels a soberingly firm hand grab his shoulder and spin him around. And suddenly, he's on the ground, staring at the panicked flies gathering around the streetlight he landed under, something warm and wet tickling down his cheeks and mouth.

"It's all your fault!" He hears a raspy voice drawl somewhere above him. Then the same firm hands roughly grab him by the front of his shirt and yank him upwards. "You-you- fuck!"

Daichi blinks the white dot from the centre of his vision just in time catch the sight of the man's fist before taking a swing. He's at the ground again, and a good portion sober than he was three seconds ago, which is good on one hand, but bad on the other as the pain is slowly bleeding in. He coughs and looks down on his shirt, finding it covered by tiny red splotches. Oh yeah, it's the blood. The man - Daichi looks up and kicks the foot from under the man before the tip of his other one connects with his ribs. In retrospect, it might not have been such a great idea as the asshole collapses on top of him, very effectively punching all air out of his lungs, but then again, at least he avoided fractures. Or at least, he hopes so. Guess the night is too young to tell yet.

"What's your problem, man?" Daichi chokes out after two quick punches to the offender's ribs. He kicks him off and limps away from him to what he thinks is a reasonable distance for a conversation.

He watches the man pick himself off the ground and spit out some blood.

"What the heck?! What have I ever--?" Daichi blinks again, trying to make sense of what - or better, whom - he sees. Messy black hair, impressive scowl that, on a good day, makes you want to run away and hide under a blanket, built in a way that would make a cocky bloke want to pick a fight in a pub, but regret the decision once the first punch lands. 

 "Iwaizumi?" Daichi gapes dumbly.

He's so surprised he doesn't even react when Iwaizumi cuts the distance between them and takes another swing at his face.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What a twist, right? Did you miss me?


	3. Sickness In Blood, In Mind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get a little more complicated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A HUGE DAMN THANK YOU for betareading to [social_monstrosity](https://archiveofourown.org/users/social_monstrosity) <3 Thank you!!!!!   
> I know I´ve been radio silent but the stars were just not in the right possition for writing.... BUT here I come! The Angst Fairy distributing pain again! Enjoy!
> 
> Playlist to make things even more angsty:  
> [Oh Hiroshima - In Silence We Yearn](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RJCLnFOfFKQ&t=6s)  
> [String Quartet Tribute - Echoes](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A2tNGBgLrSM)

The moment he hears the door shut close, Suga knows something is not right. It's not just the sound of the door - not just the dull ' _thunk_ ' mixed with the metallic click of the lock, but the shuffle and sound that comes along with it. There's a deep rasp accompanied by something falling on the ground and then the pause afterwards that puts Suga's mind in an alert but confused state.

"Daichi?" He calls, mind too slow to connect things yet. He blinks into the darkness and supports himself on his elbows, his eyes darting across the dark room. There is a shuffling noise - somebody picking himself off the ground, and then he sees a tall silhouette shamble into the room. Suga blinks and recognizes the outline of Daichi's body. He stands there, breathing deeply, but unmoving. Suga has a question on the tip of his tongue but suddenly Daichi is on top of him, crushing him under the weight of his body without a care. He yells out his name but gets cut off in the middle of it by a mouth that tastes of alcohol and blood, making him spasm in panic as Daichi's calloused and uncharacteristically stiff hands grab his face to keep him in place.

There is a moment of genuine fear induced by Suga's sleep-clouded mind when Daichi starts licking his way into his mouth, followed by a daze that finally snaps his brain into proper state of wakefulness. Daichi's left arm slides down and around his torso, his palm burning against his back as he presses their bodies together. Suga  tries one more time to push him off, digging his nails into the flesh of Daichi's bicep,  squirming to get his legs between them for more leverage because it's slowly getting too difficult to breathe, only to be roughly pushed back down. But it is then, when Daichi moves his mouth away to mumble something incoherent before pressing  a very sloppy kiss on his cheek, that Suga finally feels the trembles that wrack Daichi's body and the tears streaming down his face.

Suga's mind goes blank again, caught off guard by the reality, letting  Daichi use the moment to press another messy kiss to his mouth which Suga passively accepts. He stares, puzzled as Daichi pushes himself up, kneeling between his legs, babbling something unintelligible as he gently rocks back and forth, holding his cheeks in between his trembling hands. It seems like he's asking something because when Suga fails to give him a reply, Daichi wails and bends down to bury his face into the crook of his neck, repeating something that Suga thinks resembles a ' _please_ ' over and over.

Daichi tries for another kiss, more heated this time, his hands slipping under Suga's shirt, but Suga is finally awake enough to take proper action. He ruthlessly jabs his finger in the sensitive spot under  Daichi's jaw right under his ear and grabs him by the hair, jerking him back and holding him in place. Daichi groans as his body tenses up in pain, his hands reflexively shooting up to grab his assailant's wrists, but his grip is more pathetic than a three-year-old's. Suga hisses as he properly looks him over.

His face is all bruised up and stained tears and flaking blood, his knuckles are one big swollen mess and his shirt torn and dirty.

"Don' leave me!" Daichi chokes out, a few more tears falling down his cheeks. He's completely wasted and beaten up. Suga wouldn't be too surprised if he had a concussion. "Sugaa--" He sobs, not daring to resist the painful grip.

"What happened to you?" Suga asks, voice laced with confusion. He slowly loosens his hold on him and Daichi slumps down on top of him again, this time being more gentle and hesitant as he wraps his arms around him. Suga lets him cry into his neck for a while, rubbing the place on his head where he yanked his hair, but then slides his hands to Daichi's cheeks, forcing him to look him in the eye.

"What happened?" Suga asks, calmly but strict, like a parent trying to talk into a spooked child.

"It wasn' Hajime, it wasn' 'im - we fough' an' he tol'me - why didn' you tell me? I thought it was'im! He's not ready - I don' want t' let go! Suga, please! Tell me you're gonna make it!"

It's difficult to string together a proper meaning but Suga gets the idea. He sighs, holding Daichi's head pressed against his chest, letting him cry his eyes out, knowing that he won't get anything more coherent out of him tonight. Daichi keeps mumbling his pleas as Suga gently pushes him onto his side to find a more comfortable position for both of them, soothing him with gentle touches until Daichi falls into a fitful sleep.

* * *

There are three things Daichi realizes before he even opens his eyes in the morning: one, he feels like an absolute shit, and the dull, throbbing pain that spreads across the left side of his face doesn't offer any consolation; two, it must be pretty damn late, because he hears Suga's quiet, displeased huffs as he presses something cold to the bruises on his face; and three: he really, _really_ fucked up.

He opens his mouth to talk but his tongue is dryer than the dunes outside the city and stuck to his palate. He croaks when the comforting, cold rag disappears and something more solid touches his forehead. Daichi cracks an eye open only to have his vision obstructed by a glass of water. He eagerly gulps the offered water down and lets his head fall back onto the pillow, forcing his eyelids to stay opened and fixed on Suga's chest.

"I'm sorry." Daichi whispers hoarsely, surprised that he can't feel a good half of his mouth. He keeps his eyes fixed in place, partially because he's afraid to look up, and partially because looking up would hurt his eyes.

"Mmhmm," Suga hums, and Daichi immediately tries to guess the tone of it - is he quiet-mad, quiet-disappointed, or quiet-pitying? "What are you sorry for?"

"What I did."

Another quiet hum. Damn, he can't place the tone. He dares to look a little bit higher. He sees the bruise on Suga's neck.

"What did you do?" Suga asks, lying down next to him. His face looks kind of tired, but it's the troubled kind of tired. There's also some disappointment there as well. Daichi searches for the answer in his eyes but there's nothing telling.

"Got drunk." He says, making Suga do a slow go-ahead blink. "I got in a fight," Daichi continues, reaching out with his hand to touch Suga's neck. The disconnected flashes of memories in his head make no sense and Suga's hard stare doesn't offer any hints or consolation. His unease keeps growing every time his eyes travel back to the bruise on Suga's neck, but when the man prods the cut on his mouth with a slim finger, Daichi stops and looks up again. _'What did I do to you?'_ he wants to ask but Suga beats him to the word.

"What do you remember?"

"I was in the market, selling the parts - got quite a sum out of them actually."

"We won't be eating bullets for dinner then," Suga smiles, amused by his own horrible joke. The smile fades too quickly, though. Daichi's eyes fall on the bruise again.

"I was on my way home, and I got in a fight... with Iwaizumi." Daichi bites his lip, instantly regretting it, but the pain gives him an excuse to stay silent.

"You know, by the look of your face, one would think he's a regular in the pit." Suga says as he gently caresses Daichi's cheek.

"Have you seen him lately? There is a reason why nobody picks fights with him." Daichi says bitterly. "He was grieving. "

Suga's hand stops on his cheek.

"When I asked if everything was alright yesterday, you said 'yeah'." Daichi continues, taking a deep breath, his lips quivering. "Nothing is alright."

* * *

"It's all your fucking fault!" Iwaizumi moans, almost falling face-first on the ground, thrown off by his own punch that sent Daichi gracelessly sprawling on the ground.

"What the Hell did I do? Fuck!" Daichi spits out the blood, quickly scrambling back to his feet as Iwaizumi readies for a kick. This time, he manages to block. Two other punches fly a little bit off, giving Daichi time to back up and get ready for retaliation. His punch connects but Daichi has no time to celebrate, because Iwaizumi is fuelled by rage and vengeance and is not swayed by them by the slightest.

Somebody across the street yells and Daichi looks up to see the same drunken group of men standing on the curb, watching the fight. Two leather-clad guys with shaved heads sway behind a shorter man, barking threatening noises in his general direction, but don't dare to cross the invisible barrier that the man in front of them represents.

The shortie jerks his head up in question at Daichi. "Need a hand, buddy?" He asks, voice a bit slurred.

Daichi raises his hand in a 'I-got-this' manner and they reluctantly stumble away, looking back as if to make sure he doesn't  change his mind. Iwaizumi uses the second of Daichi's distraction to land another hit, sending them both tumbling into a heap. 

"What the heck is this about? Snap the fuck out of it - what the Hell?!" Daichi groans trying to crawl away from Iwaizumi who's dragging him back to straddle him so he can hit his face from a better angle.

"The fucking sand plague! If you'd never come-"

Daichi cuts him off with a head-butt. It makes them both reel back in pain.

"How the shit! Is that my fault?!" Daichi spits out, scrambling away to put some distance between them, but it seems like Iwaizumi has had enough. He's kneeling on the ground, holding his bloody nose in one hand and punching the ground with his other. Daichi takes a careful step forward. "You know the plague is not contagious!"  

"The fuck it isn't!" Iwaizumi shouts back.

"How come I don't have it then? If you got it then it's because - Hell, I don't know! I don't know how it works! Ask Oikawa, he's a doctor!"

"I can't! I fucking can't because he won't let me!" Iwaizumi's voice is breaking. Daichi stares. "He brushes me off every time!"

Daichi shakes his head. "Why would he? If you're sick isn't he supposed to-"

"I'm not sick, you idiot!" Iwaizumi moans, his body jerking. It takes a while for Daichi to realize he's crying. "Oikawa is!"

Daichi's vision swims and the world with it. He falls on his ass and remains sitting there next to Iwaizumi, staring at him with his mouth gaping.

"What do you mean?" He breathes.

Iwaizumi continues as if he didn't hear him. "How can you live with that? How can you make it through the day living with him? I can't even bear to look at him knowing he could be gone the next day! How do you get through the day knowing that?"

The question weighs heavy on Daichi's shoulders, and suddenly, he feels bile rise into his mouth. He puts his head between his knees and breathes through it. He doesn't know which is the cause of that - the alcohol, or the harsh reality.

Iwaizumi sobs next to him, and Daichi is too afraid to look at him.

"I started drinking." 

* * *

Daichi doesn't tell him about that part, though.

"We went to a pub and we got drunk."

"You mean more drunk." Suga clicks his tongue. Now Daichi can place the tone - Suga's upset.

Of course, drinking doesn't solve a single thing, and it doesn't make it any easier, but it's so nice to be numb, even for a little while. To just sit with your mind empty and vision swimming - for that beat of a moment where he doesn't know where he is and what pain is. Then it comes back, because alcohol does that, and he's a goddamn lightweight on top of that, not to mention his irregular eating habits. It's like lifting up a ton of bricks only to let them fall on your head later. Some say the unconsciousness is the best thing about it, but Daichi begs to differ.

He looks at Suga's bruise again and hates himself for ordering a bottle last night. He also knows who's going to hate himself more than him. Iwaizumi was lifting up a lot more figurative bricks than he had.

"I'm sorry, Suga."

"What for? You're the one with a hangover and a mauled face, not me." Suga brushes him off,  his fingers raking through Daichi's short, messy hair.

"What did I do to you last night?" He asks, feeling his heart trying to beat its way out of his chest in dread. "Please, I can't remember!"

Suga's face is blank and his voice flat. "Good. Then let that be your punishment."

"Suga!"

"Go take a shower. I can't stand the smell."

Daichi's shoulders sag in defeat when Suga turns away from him, but he closes his mouth, knowing better than to beg. He knows when to suck it up, but he's conflicted because Suga disappointment with him stings. He desperately rakes his mind for something to mention, something that doesn't show how much he hungers for Suga's attention right now as he takes his time in his search for a towel.

"I managed to order some meat last night," Daichi tries, hoping for the best. Suga looks up at him, but there is no trace of changing attitude as he replies with a simple nod before looking away again.

Daichi feels the little spark of hope die out in him, and lets the door of the bathroom close behind him.

Suga does look up again, but he resists calling Daichi's name when he sees his back bend under the weight of his dismissal. He looks almost pityingly pathetic but Suga bites his lip and tells himself Daichi needs to start learning from his mistakes. He retreats to his tinkering corner, only drawing the hole-filled curtain separating it from the rest of the house half-way. Suga busies himself playing with his little, round robot he constructed with the few spare bits and pieces of the android parts he dared to keep to occupy himself while giving Daichi the cold shoulder for the rest of the day. Daichi keeps shooting desperate looks at him from his spot in the kitchen every time Suga shuffles in the box of parts, looking for something to add to the thing to make it look a little bit cuter, but not even two tiny lights on bouncy strings manage to make lump of cables and circuits stuffed in a beaten metallic shell any more appealing. 

When Suga hears a soft _'fuck'_ , the "What's wrong?" tumbles out of his mouth out of reflex. Daichi sighs, rubbing his eyes with his fingers.

"I left the bike at the market."

"Well, at least you're not dumb enough to drink and drive." Suga jabs, returning to his work. He's about to suggest he goes to retrieve it and maybe bring the meat along with him, but there is a knock on the door that interrupts him. He draws the curtain a little bit further to obscure himself, but when he hears the rich husky baritone of Aone's voice, he peeks out.

"Hello!" He greets quietly, sending the man a soft smile, but making sure to keep his eyes away from Daichi who still looks like a scolded dog. "How are the kids?"

Aone moves his head to the side - his way of saying _'as usual.'_ Suga finds it endearing. Aone jerks his head towards the sad, metallic egg with antennae. "Natsu says thanks for the toy."

Suga's smile widens. Maybe his toy-making skills aren't as tragic as he thought they were.

The tone of conversation changes abruptly though.

"I'm sorry, the pit master sends me." Aone says, handing Daichi a piece of paper. Suga drops his gaze to the floor. He hears the crumpling of paper and tries to tune out the rest of the conversation in vain. He knows why the master is sending for him.

"Who are you versing?" Suga asks.

Aone is the one who replies. "Me."

* * *

Before Daichi leaves that evening, Suga calls his name to stop him and affectionately rubs the bruise on his face with his cold thumb.

"It's going to be okay." Suga says as Daichi closes his eyes, savouring the touch but remaining silent.

* * *

The roar of the crowd falls onto him like a heavy, suffocating blanket, disconnecting him from his thoughts, feelings, and, most importantly, the bleak reality. Aone stands on the other side of the pit, eyes hard and fists raised and ready. Daichi clenches his own fists, harshly exhaling. His mind blanks out before the first hit lands.

* * *

The chill from the dust covered ground feels almost like heaven to the burning wounds that make him want to just lie down and never get up - never mind that it's all covered in blood, sweat and other bodily fluids. Daichi almost doesn't care, but _'almost'_ isn't enough, and his knees hurt too much to remain kneeling there, so he drags himself back to his wobbly feet, taking his time to find some balance. He staggers from the stabbing pain in his side, then trips because it makes his stomach turn. He dryly heaves and finds himself back on his knees, but this time he chooses to crawl towards the fence and find support there.

His brain registers the maddening roar of the crowd - it's as if somebody just flipped the switch in his head, forcing him back into the reality. He exhales a shaky sigh that turns into a pitiful whine, and rests his forehead against the not-cold-enough wire _._ He feels a hand grip him by the hair on the back of his head, yanking it a few times before patting him and letting go, and Daichi vaguely hears the string of praises that flood over him from crowd.  A dozen of clammy, rough hands barely fitting through the holes of the wired fence roam his body, sticking bills into his pockets and the hem of his pants.

"Get the body out of here!" The pit master yells out - Daich almost cries. He doesn't bother to turn around. He closes his eyes and breathes through the pain.

Another arm wiggles through the gap in the fence, the steady hand attached to it coming to rest on the less-bruised half of his face.

"Come home safely." An eerily even voice says into his ear, making the sentence bounce around his head. Daichi snaps his eyes open, taking a second to focus his swimming vision on the passive face of the owner of that voice.

He knows those sharp eyes, damnit! He can't remember his name, though. The stranger smirks, dragging his hand down to Daichi's chest, pausing, and then pulling away. Daichi palms the place, finding a bill sticking to his sweaty skin. He dumbly stares at the man, mutely opening his mouth like a fish.

"A storm's about to hit." The sharp-eyed stranger says as he steps away from the fence, pointedly looking down at something he's holding. Daichi follows his eyes, but his brain still doesn't catch up - a piece of cloth?

Only when the man ties the cloth around his mouth, the cogs in Daichi's face fall in place.

His eyes widen in panic. "Wait!" Daichi gasps, trying to push his own arm through the fence to stop the man from leaving, but the crowd has already swallowed him. Daichi yells after him, body numbing up with adrenalin again. He pushes himself off the fence, searching for the way out of the pit as if he's never been there before, staggering past the pit master, barely pausing to take his money.

* * *

Suga doesn't even bother to go to bed because he knows sleep won't come that easy tonight. He tinkers with the toy robot instead, determined to finish it before Daichi comes home, but he spends more time staring at the clock than working. The time almost mocks him by how slow the arms are moving, but he stubbornly remains following the ticking second hand, absentmindedly holding the robot in his lap.

A familiar sound of engine startles him out of his dreamless, half-asleep state, making his heart jump. He looks at the clock as he wraps the blanket around his shoulders - it's a little too early for Daichi to be home.  Maybe the fight was cancelled? A more rational voice in his head whispers _'fat chance,_ ' but Suga ignores it and goes to open the door just as the engine grows silent. When he reaches the door, he hesitates. Maybe Daichi sent someone to get his bike?

Suga stands there in silence, straining his ears for any noises, waiting for Daichi to open the door. Who could have got the bike for him? Is it Iwaizumi? He waits, and waits, and the door remains silently shut. Just as he's  about to turn around to go back to sit on his chair, he hears a weird scraping noise and a quiet curse.

Did Daichi forget his keys? Suga shakes his head coughing into his fist to ease the scratching in his lungs. Is he having trouble with the key because of an injury? Suga pushes the extra key into the keyhole and turns it until he hears two clicks.

"Daichi, are you--?" Suga starts, cutting himself off as he stares at the man in the door. Too tall to be Daichi. Too lanky.

Suga doesn't have the time to evaluate more. He doesn't even have the time to take a breath before the stranger's left hand claps over his mouth, silencing and shoving him against the wall. Suga is too stunned to catch his other hand - the one holding the knife.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments would be lovely! Also, I´m sorry I´m such a trash and don´t reply right away I am gathering courage! <3 I love comments tho! They help me write!><


	4. Fools

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thanks goes to [social_monstrosity](https://archiveofourown.org/users/social_monstrosity) as always! Thank you so much for your hard work!
> 
> This is a dialogue-heavy chapter, but I needed an interlude for the last chapter.  
> Enjoy!

Daichi stumbles out of the warehouse looking up and down the empty street, but sees no trace of the man. Kuroo - the name appears in his mind written in scarlet letters, the voice in his mind screaming at him, echoing the name until it bleeds into a deafening noise that makes his blood boil in anger. 

The mere idea that something might happen to Suga makes his vision dye red. He limps towards the parking lot, ignoring the old gate keeper who's craning his neck over the screen to see out of the window.

"You left in a hurry, m'boy." He says, voice a little unsteady. He's looking Daichi from head to toe, hands awkwardly hovering in the air - he's not sure whether to offer help or run.

"I need to steal a bike." Daichi growls, making the old man take a step back. His eyes nervously dart towards the parked bikes beyond the gate before he scrambles back inside the shed to unlock the gate. 

Daichi nods and limps away, holding his aching side. The world lurches again but he manages to keep himself upright, steadying himself on the hood of a tragically rusty car. Sucking in a breath, he hobbles over to a green bike in the third row - Aone's not gonna need it anymore. He even left the keys in the ignition.

The engine roars to life, and Daichi speeds off as if all seven devils were after him.

The wind howls in his ears, pushes tears out of his eyes, whipping his face without mercy, but Daichi doesn’t ease up. He keeps his eyes trained ahead, hoping he might spot a cloud - some trace of the man he pursues, but he's not rewarded.

There is no dust. He's chasing no one, and with every passing second, the dread in his core grows, and grows, and the voice in his head screams louder, thirsty for blood.

He grinds his teeth to keep himself from yelling in frustration - Why won't it go faster? Why can't he catch up with him? Why does everything hurt so much? Why does the man want to take away from him the little unknown time he has left with Suga? Why? WHY? 

He's there though. Finally crossing the threshold of the area that's built within the side of the barren, rocky cliff - why did he have to buy the house that's almost at the end of the damn street? He spots his bike, mocking him from the spot in front of his house. His own bike insults him with its mere presence, just because that scum has parked it exactly the way he does.

Daichi abuses the breaks and jerks the bike to the side, drifting to a stop in a cloud of dust. He jumps off and lets the bike fall carelessly on the ground, almost tripping over his own feet when he runs towards the front door - he doesn't bother to search for the keys. He kicks down the door of his own house like a madman and bursts in ready to draw blood. There is a beat of just absolute stillness as he sweeps the room with his eyes, and then he sees him.

Standing there in the middle of his kitchen, with his hands on Suga's shoulders. They are both looking at him with wide eyes.

"Daichi," Suga breathes, and that's all it takes for Daichi to lose his mind.

In the blink of an eye, he is on top of Kuroo, who's unfortunate enough to backstep right into the table. Daichi body-slams the curse out of his mouth, grabs him by the shirt to hold him still and enjoys the satisfying crunch when his fist connects with the man's face. He grabs him by the neck, pushes him against the table and squeezes, high on the wave of satisfaction when he feels the flesh strain. Kuroo's body goes rigid before he starts thrashing around, face red and eyes bulging out in horror as he tries to claw Daichi's hands away, but Daichi squeezes harder, staring dead back at him because he's going to be the last thing he'll ever see- 

"Stop!" Suga's cry brings him down to earth. Daichi blinks away the bloodlust and fury, and looks to the side, right into Suga's round, brown eyes. He feels his cold hands on his arm, asking him to let go of Kuroo's neck. Daichi lets himself get dragged away.

Kuroo collapses along with the table, curling up on the floor as he hungrily gasps for air.

Daichi stares, dumbfounded, his arms moving on their own accord to wrap themselves around Suga when he feels him move away. He doesn't hold him back though - his arms are too weak, and his body hurting. Daichi just dumbly stares as Suga kneels down next to the retching man, making sure he's alright.

The world spins for the second time and suddenly he's leaning against the wall, feeling Suga's cool fingers touching his jaw. Daichi holds him as tightly as his unfeeling arms let him, resting his forehead against his. 

"You're alright." He breathes dragging his hands over Suga's body to make sure he's complete and unhurt. Daichi's knees buckle from relief.

"We need a doctor," Suga bites out, trying to urge Daichi's uncooperative body towards the bed, but the man won't budge. He protectively presses Suga against him, frowning at the still dry-heaving man on the floor.

"What the Hell, man?" Kuroo croaks, trying - and failing - to stand. 

"Get the fuck out of here," Daichi growls, trying to get Suga behind him.

"Daichi, you need to sit dow-"

"Get out! If I see you here again, I'm gonna murder you!"

"Screw you!" Kuroo spits out, hand searching for his lost knife.

"Shut the fuck up, both of you!" Suga yells, successfully stunning both men, but breaking into a coughing fit right after, swatting Daichi's awkward hands away. "Go lie down for God's sake, you can barely stand!" Suga grits out through his teeth, grabbing a fist full of the man's shirt and dragging him towards the bed. Daichi makes a protesting noise, throwing a nasty frown in Kuroo's direction, but he is too weak to resist Suga at the moment. 

"Move," Suga barks, shooing Kuroo away from the bed because Daichi is acting more like a guard dog than a grown ass man. He pushes him down on the bed, ignoring his pained hiss.

"How are you alive!" Kuroo snaps, almost tripping over the table as he backs away from them.

"I'm not." Suga spits out, trying and failing to calm himself down. "I died three years ago in the pits."

Kuroo shakes his head, mouth hanging open in disbelief. "How did you get past the pit master?"

"We have our ways. But that doesn't matter - what are you doing here?"

Kuroo looks towards Daichi. "I'm here for him."

"What for? Revenge?" Suga's voice dips with bitterness. "Great job in that case. I didn't take you for someone who'd hold onto a grudge for so long."

"Well excuse me for caring about you!" Kuroo snaps back, throwing his arms in the air.

"You were supposed to let go!" Suga screams back, immediately breaking into a coughing fit.

"How could I? How can I? Why didn't you tell me? What-what?!" Kuroo rakes his hands through his hair in frustration. "What even happened?"

"I needed a way out and Daichi was the one who opened the doors for me. Nothing has changed since then."

"Nothing has changed?!" Kuroo echoes incredulously. "You're alive!"

"I'm not! I'm sick! I've got the plague!" Suga croaks, out of breath. His throat hurts, and his lungs burn, but he can't stop. "I'm dead - for you, for everyone! I couldn't keep fighting anymore and I didn't want to live my last days in that Hellhole." Daichi's hand tightens around his.

"It's a generous number of last days then," Kuroo mocks, mirroring Suga's spiteful tone. "It's been three years! I could have helped you!"

"Nobody can help me!"

"Why didn't you tell me? Why him?" Kuroo jabs a finger at Daichi, who's face screws in anger. "Is it because he fucked you better than the others?" 

Suga balks. "What is this? Jealousy speaking? Are you mad that I didn't let you have a go? "

"Fuck that!" Kuroo bellows. He takes a breath to collect himself. "I thought we were friends!"

"We are!" Suga insists, but then immediately shuts his mouth close with an audible click. "We were," he corrects himself, voice quiet and shoulders sagging. He can't look him in the eye anymore. "You know nothing of the pit. You were a friend, but you're an outsider. You were the one paying for my wins, but you never stood down there, wondering how many people depend on the man you're fighting against. I couldn't tell you."

The silence that follows is thick enough to be sliced.

"Go home, Kuroo" Suga says, voice tired and hoarse from all the shouting.

"Let me help you, please." Kuroo pleads, finally daring to take a step closer.

Suga shakes his head. "Forget you ever saw me, forget this ever happened. You can't help." He glances at Daichi, eyes clouded with some unknown emotion. It almost looks like he's annoyed.

Kuroo opens his mouth to argue but nothing comes out. He doesn't look like he wants to let it go, but he gives him a stiff nod. Suga walks him to the door but when he opens it for him, Kuroo doesn't move to leave.

"What about him?" He asks, jerking his head towards Daichi. "What if I help him?"

Suga bows his head. "Can you help yourself first?"

Kuroo gives him no answer. He wraps his arms around Suga, surprising him with a brief hug before he takes his hand and presses a bunch of keys into his palm.

"Good-bye." He says and walks around Daichi's bike, picking up and climbing onto Aone's instead. He twists the keys in the ignition and with a last look at Suga, he drives off.

"Fool." Suga sighs, grabbing his blanket from the floor, dusting it off. He sweeps the room with his eyes, looking at the mess after the fight, but he doesn't move to tidy up. Daichi mutely scoots to the side, inviting him to lie down next to him. Suga hesitates, eyes gliding towards the blade that taunts him from the floor. 

"Do I need to call a doctor?"

Daichi shakes his head. "I'm fine now."

"Are you really?"

He gets a sleepy hum in reply.

"You were scary," Suga murmurs, untucking Daichi's shirt, much to the man's annoyance.

"I was scared." Daichi sighs, hissing when Suga forces him to sit up so he can take the shirt off. "I was so scared he'd take you away from me." Daichi whispers, burying his face against the crook of Suga's neck.

"You need to stop this."

Daichi screws his eyes shut, stubbornly shaking his head. 

"You need to let go." But Suga's pleas fall on deaf ears. His eyes drift towards the knife, and his mind wanders.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Coments????


End file.
